


It's cold.

by nutsforwinter



Series: Close [1]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutsforwinter/pseuds/nutsforwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let’s just do this and go home," he remembered saying to him at the diner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's cold.

Malvo wasn’t there. He squinted through the whiteout, but strain them as he might, his eyes couldn’t make out much aside from the tip of his rifle and the spot where Malvo clearly had been a few moments ago. He cursed under his breath. _Jesus, it’s cold._ He caught Wrench looking at him from across the car, and he could see his own frustration mirrored in his partner’s face. 

"Let’s just do this and go home," he remembered saying to him at the diner.

He didn’t say that now. Instead he brusquely signaled that they split up. Wrench nodded then stalked off, and the snow quickly obscured his large figure. Numbers watched his partner disappear into the cold. He lingered for a few seconds even after he completely lost sight of him. 

_We were so close!_ he gritted his teeth. It was unbelievable how narrowly their target had escaped. They could have been done by now and on their way home, both of them safe and sound, with hardly a frostbite to show for this godforsaken place. But this motherfucker… 

It wasn’t as if this was the first time they had crossed someone of Malvo’s caliber. But neither was it the hundredth time. Or even the tenth. And nothing about this guy felt right. He was different. It sank in just how badly they had fucked up, and Numbers steeled himself to rectify the situation.

Eventually, one foot crossed over the other as he began to move, holding his torso at an angle and his firearm steady. His body was tense, adrenaline pumping through his veins, yet his mind couldn’t stay focused.

The thought of Wrench out there alone bothered him. They split up so rarely, and when they did, it was for no more than a few minutes. But they needed to find Malvo, quickly, before they lost him for good and they became his prey. Wrench’s deafness shouldn’t be a problem in this storm; the wind whistled so loudly in Numbers’ ears, by now stinging from the cold, that he could barely make out his own thoughts. But he felt vulnerable. He was vulnerable. Again it crossed his mind, _How the hell did we miss him?_

_God, it’s fucking cold._

In that instant, he spotted blood. It trailed thinly beside a set of footprints. His breath came in shallow spurts, his heart rate quickening. He hoped to God it wasn’t Wrench’s. The footprints seemed too small to be his partner’s, but still. He braced himself again, raising his weapon higher. The door came into sight as he inched along the trail.

 _The fuck?_ It didn’t seem right… but what if it was?

He approached, his senses zeroing in on the doorway, where blood trail had stopped. If this was right, he needed to get him now, when he was wounded and relatively helpless. Get him now so they could get their money. So they could sleep at night without worrying about waking up to a bullet in between their eyes. So Wrench would be safe. So they could go home.

 _Shit shit shit shit,_ he thought as he squeezed his fingers around the knob.

Searing pain, the recoil from his rifle fired in vain, a hot breath and low voice at his ear. A question? Another stab, the pain shooting up and contorting his face. Question again. By the time he had gathered his wits, the knife was in him like a screw. Why did he answer? Maybe if Wrench had been there, he would have held out. Goddammit, where was he? His vulnerability struck him again. Death. Alone. He slumped down into the snow. His weapon slipped from his fingers. He was drinking and breathing his blood, at the same time becoming soaked in it. Unpleasant sensation, this warm liquid. Almost as if he had wet himself. And this stupid gurgling sound. The pain took a backseat as the shock of what had just happened took the wheel. How much longer did he have to endure this humiliation? 

Hand on his back. He would have flinched, but at this point couldn’t. Wrench?

“I think he’s dead!” that wasn’t his partner’s voice. 

As much a comfort Wrench’s presence would have been, he was almost thankful that the hand was a stranger’s, and that his own eyes were fixed on the snow. He didn’t want to be found in this state by the kid he had taken under his wing a few years ago. It would be embarrassing to say the least. What would he say if he saw him like this? 

_I wouldn’t hear the end of it,_ he thought, almost chuckling. Amusement? It must be the lack of oxygen in his brain.

He recalled how they had planned this the night before. This was supposed to have been simple. Catch him off guard, pin him in his car, then finish him. Quick and easy.

Wrench had expressed concern at the simplicity of the plan. “He might be armed.” 

Numbers had brushed this off. “It’ll be fine,” he had signed back, “it’s the two of us against the one, after all.” 

Well now it was just the one of them against the one. Wrench was bigger and stronger, but if he were to be taken by surprise like he himself had been, what chance did he stand? He was only a kid. Tall and intimidating, but still a kid.

But then again, he had grown a bit since the time he had nearly botched their first job together. Maybe now he’d be able to hold his own against a new partner. Numbers’ replacement.

A voice, gunshots. Another voice and a gunshot.

 _What the fuck is he doing?_ Frustrated that he couldn’t see anything, he nearly brought himself to tears. _Shit._

But for all his desire to help, his lungs were full, his spilled blood had gone cold around him and his veins were emptying, conveying their cargo through the gash in his throat. He was beginning to notice how numb he was, how heavy his limbs were. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

He shivered. Or would have, but couldn’t.

_Christ, it’s cold._


End file.
